Jesus and Seersucker

LFG and I have put a wrap on another summer week together. I'm now sitting in Dallas for a few thank God, billable days... I’ll have one more LFG week before before school starts and to say that life with LFG is flying by is an understatement. I’ve had several people tell me that these transitions I’m amidst with her are only beginnings of many, many more. I get that; thank-you…but as the father of only one child, I’ll remain in denial for a while longer.

We enjoyed a few fun days post Rehoboth right in our hood but speaking of hoods…LFG and I stopped for lunch in Annapolis on the way home the other day. There’s a quaint little enclave on a hill overlooking the river, above the Naval Academy. LFG’s mom and I almost bought a house there years ago...this house. I drove LFG by the house and told her how her mom and I almost lived there years ago, before she was born. We speculated about how fun it would have been to live there and how pretty the little hilltop patch is today. Funny, I can engage in this banter with LFG but I can’t even darken the street of our marital neighborhood. Shut up.

So here’s just a quick flurry of randomness and I suppose that I’d better address the associated title of this post before I lose you. LFG and I spent the day Saturday with one of my business partners and his little daughter, LPS, who is three months older than LFG. We swam at their pool and then the four of us went to the Saturday evening handlin’. LPS's mommy was out of town for the weekend so it was a father-daughter exclusive. LFG giggles when I tell her that she was in mommy’s tummy when her mom and I picked up LPS and her new parents from National Airport. LPS was adopted through a stellar outreach program for unwed mothers based in Utah. 

Here’s a post pool picture of LFG and LPS that lives on my fridge. They are pruny-post pool waterlogged three year olds. Dig the LPS-LFG necklace creations.

I snapped a photo of these ten year olds in the same spot the other day. Time…where’s it going?

Ah, the utility of shell cordovan penny loafers. Poolside one moment and church the next. It’s all good.

I wore my Flusser seersucker sans tie…I should wear more of my suits this way…I’d get more use out of them. Sunday handlin’ always leaves much to be desired sartorially but the Saturday extravaganza is a sartorial goat-rodeo. I’m not judging--yes I am. The Man cares not what you wear to fellowship. I on the other hand…I do.

And a couple of miscellaneous closers. LFG is currently assessing her color options for the bedroom re-do. She’s declared the Hello Kitty themed, Pepto-Bismol pink girl cave…passé. Stay tuned.

 “Daddy, what’s a seam ripper” … Well in this context LFG, it’s a little device I use to remove extraneous pockets from non-bespoke shirts like the two Andover Shop beauties I snagged the other week. Other contexts are not to be shared with you, my little princess. Shhhh…

Onward, to Dallas and beyond.

ADG and LFG

Love The Sinner-Hate The Sin: GTH Redefined

My trip to today’s Handlin’ is grounded in earth tones and monochromacity. To say that it’s antithetical to my June sartorial mores is an understatement. I’m doing this in honor of those who find most GTH contrivances an abomination. I’m also doing it because as much as I pay attention to what I wear, Jesus doesn’t care. He and his disciples dressed for comfort. Come to think of it, I do too but I just like a little more color and pattern than the boys from Galilee fancied. But if solid colors and earth tones were good enough for Jesus, they’re good enough for me—for one Sunday—one time—not forever—maybe never again—at least not in the summer.  

I’m reminded of some state or county official in Texas who when asked why he didn’t support funding for Bibles printed in Spanish said that … “if English was good enough for Jesus it oughta be good enough for everbody else”. EverBody—for some reason I’m thinking that would be a good name for board shorts or maybe even a surfboard line.

So this is my multivendor assemblage of things less GTH. Crocket and Jones for Polo, The Brethren, Flusser MTM courtesy of Southwick and back to Polo—Ralph to round out the belt and trousers. And other than the silk pocket handkerchief and my lycra thong, this rig is one hundred (or "hunderd" if that fella from Texas was sayin' it) percent linen.

Black linen trousers...these must be twenty years old. What was I thinking? I don't wear black trousers in the daytime butcept today...and black in the summer? Additional evidence of their age is manifest in the Deney Terrio Dance Fever "mini-cuff".

Linen...guaranteed to wrinkle. The perfect ADD man's fabric and also the manifest wrinkly metaphor for not giving too much of a shitake about precision and correctness. Worry unduly about such things and you'll end up looking overly crisp...the Adolphe Menjou syndrome I like to call it. Two buttons on the sleeve...an old WASP affectation seen routinely on jackets intended for the weekend.

As much as I loathe admitting it, the color palette connectivity of this mongrelosity really works well. Too bad I can't get my foot up around my open patch breast pocket when I have all of this on. I'm going to church, not hot yoga. The reason for going to church is to seek forgiveness for scores of impure thoughts manifest peri-Bikram. Peri Bikram...a post Raj lounge singer perhaps?

And finally, I picked up my dry cleaning yesterday and the reality is immutable. I am the antimonochromaticsolidcolornopatternrestraintlessismore man. Kinda like what Charlie Parker said about heroin..."you can get it out of my body but you can't get it out of my mind". 

Onward. Monochromatically for a day.

A D G

Home to My Jesus-In Seersucker

No wonder the Pharisees always stayed kinda mad at Jesus. After all, he made them look foolish on more than one occasion. Did they really want Jesus to condemn the adulterer or did they want to test Jesus’ influence? Jesus was able to challenge these authoritarians by inviting them without sin to commence stoning this woman caught in the act of adultery. It would have taken me three weeks to come up with such a clever statement to diffuse the situation.

John Chapter 8 and a couple of verses from Mathew provided all the reference necessary to let me know that yesterday’s sermon was exclusively for my country a_s.  Judgement and forgiveness is the tight little forty five minute message and I’m sitting there thinking “damn (even though you shouldn’t be thinking or saying “damn” at the handlin’) here we go again…another sermon aimed at ADG Ground Zero”….

Some top-line corollaries from John Chapter 8…Christ neither found fault with the law, nor excused the prisoner's guilt; nor did he countenance the pretended zeal of the Pharisees. Those are self-condemned who judge others, and yet do the same thing.  And then from Matthew 7:1 "Do not judge so that you will not be judged” Ok…looks like I’m gonna have to refrain from laughing at people who wear goofy shit. And “zeal”? Take that away from me and I got nothin’.

Now how in the world am I going to put fully in play the lessons from the handlin’? I posited a good while back in my post about why I love and write about clothes that I want people to learn about me and my character before casting me off as some sartorial snob. You can read it here. I declared in that post that I try really hard to offer the same latitude to those I meet…regardless of the number of tattoos you have, nose piercings or even, God forbid, vertical blinds. I can even dig deep enough and find the goodness in you if I notice a Thomas Kinkade painting hanging in your house. And that’s digging deep.

I suppose it’s no longer my authority to declare when you can or can’t wear things like patch madras and seersucker. And Allie, I’m gonna have to abandon my idea of resurrecting the Butt Police. Who am I to decide such things? And Spandex? Geez…can I really surrender my authority over such offensive fabrics? I’m against the death penalty but what about butt crack baggy jeans and backward baseball hats? 

Are y’all really comfortable with me letting go of my Pharisee-esque self proclaimed authoritarian weigh-in on all things Strip Mall? Was I delusional to think, just because I have people of distant, thank God, relation back in S.C.—who would actually be proud to make the People of Wal-Mart blog post—that I could straighten the world out on such matters? Just having an Aunt Tootie should qualify me.

 Let me conclude by saying that I’m gonna try really hard to actualize the lessons learned in Mathew and John. But I can’t promise anything. As I cobble this drivel together, my little pocket Mephistopheles is sitting on my shoulder telling me that if I don’t carry forth the mantle of sartorial judgement…the slippery slope of sartorial slovenosity will become ever steeper.

So it’s no longer upon me to declare white bucks and seersucker the current Sunday costume of choice for the masses. But for me yesterday—I was pleased to pounce. Flusser gray seersucker sportcoat, pink diagonal tone on tone Flusser button down, nicely patinated Polo white bucks and an old pair of bulletproof Hertling Irish linen trousers.

I’ve commented on the architecture of this sportcoat before but here’s a little refresher. At first glance one could quickly conclude that it’s just another ADG Fuzzy Dice contrivance. Double vented, three two roll, patch pockets with a patch ticket…finished off with an open patch breast pocket. Give me a break man! If ever the evidence would support throwing the first stone of ersatz sartorial contrivance…this might be it. But hold on a minute before you start pelting. This exact model hails from the Brooks Brothers Archives courtesy of Alan Flusser. So there.

I love this jacket. Those of you who bespeak things know that even from the same pattern, singular garments feel and fit differently based on a zillion factors. This creation fits exactly the way I like. Don’t ask me to explain further. It’s not for you or me to really understand in toto.

And Hertling trousers? I can only speak for myself—since I’ve given up my authority—but I’ll never need a nicer pair of trousers than what rolls out of the Hertling factory. I just worry about what’s gonna happen over in Brooklyn after Julie Hertling gives it up. China I reckon.

Toad did a great update on white bucks the other day. And as much as I want another pair, it ain’t in the budget and these patinated babies are good for a few more seasons.

I exchanged emails with someone from back home recently and we got on the subject of funerals. A sartorial legend from S.C. passed away and he was filling me in on the funeral service. I offered the following comment in an email reply….. “Funerals…I used to worry like hell about what my family will do on my behalf—regardless of what I’ve outlined in my Will. My mom remains undone over the fact that I’ve requested cremation. I would love for the Shaw Singers or the Blind Boys from Alabama to roll in and sing two songs… “Oh Happy Day” and “Home to My Jesus”. Then I’d like for everyone to have cocktails. No open casket nonsense for me”.

So I’m gonna leave you with Home to My Jesus by the Shaw Singers. Excuse the silly dancers visual…I can’t find another version of the song to post. I love the grittiness…the granularity of this poorly recorded gospel standard. I also like what the Rev. Al Green said about the difference between the Blues and Gospel. Just substitute the words God/Jesus with Baby and you’ve got one or the other. I’m thinking the Rev. Al was hollerin’ for God not Baby when that pot of hot grits hit him upside the head.

Onward…throwin’ no stones…till Thursday…ADG

Jesus-Indians and Contraceptive Co-Pays

I don’t think Jesus minds too much if we miss the Handlin’ for good reason. The cocktail flu ain’t really a strong enough reason to not go and get a dose but the real flu probably gets you off the hook. If ever there was a time when you just might get bitten-it might be when you are throwing off some viral juju. A sip of strychnine out of the Mason jar though-might do you good.

I got dressed in an attempt to go but just didn’t have the stamina. So I had fellowship at home-with DayQuil. I leave tomorrow for another round of airports-hotels-meeting rooms and carpet reviews so I’ve gotta rest up. Besides-dressing right now in the mid-Atlantic area is no easy feat. The temps can vary as much as thirty degrees so it’s no man’s land regarding consistent requirements for fabric and clothing weight. And it’s been misty-rainy here as well.

Brittons was the bomb…as kids would say today. I don’t exaggerate when I say that their Main Street store in Columbia S.C. circa 1985 was as tasty as any haberdashery you would find in Gotham. It was nothing short of a miniature Polo Mansion. This was also a time when you could only buy Polo in a few places in S.C. and Brittons had the best of the best from the Polo line. They also had a taste level that allowed the creation of private label stuff that so mimicked the look of Polo-plebes like me could actually afford a few things. They did a ton of well customized Hertling and they styled stuff from Country Britches that to this day-I can visualize. I didn’t have the money to buy anything Polo at regular price back then but I was first in line for their sales twice a year.

It never really gets what I call “tweedy cold” in South Carolina so many of us who were trying to sport that classic Polo look back then did so mid January in a pool of sweat. It just didn’t get cold enough to wear head to toe tweed and flannel. I wore it anyway-surprised?

My company also demanded that we wear suits so tweed sportcoat were nonexistent in my closet. But then I walked in and spied this bullet proof baby.

I call it bullet proof because after almost 25 years of accompanying me around the world-this coat remains as pristine today as when I bought it-at half price-for the stunning sum of one hundred and eighty dollars.

I was making 29k back then as a hospital rep for a drug company-that was a lot of dough…for the coat and for a 24 year old kid to bring home each year.

I had never seen pockets like this. Mainly because I’d never seen The Shooting Party or any Merchant Ivory stuff or read any English explorer biographies like Mallory or had never seen turn of the century golf photographs. They stood out kinda funny but I liked them. The stiffness of this fabric made them stand out even more.

I even closed the throat-wind latch on this baby one day when it became a ...brrrr chilly 58 degrees. Almost did that auto-asphyxiation thang on myself before I could get it undone. Ever been in a situation where calling 911 was not out of the question but not so much that before dialing-you had enough presence of mind to realize how embarasing it was going to be when the arrived? This was one of two times I've been caught in those tentacles. The other was when I accidentally zipped up my ........

Some of the Mallory team....I can hear them now..."Hey guys-before we attempt Everest-lets swing by Brittons in Columbia South Carolina and get kitted out for the climb"!

Never have I owned such a versatile coat. Jeans-earth tone cords-gray flannels-seersucker-gingham-lycra…it goes with everything! In my attempt to make it to fellowship, I paired it with a fifteen year old pair of Polo cords and brown suede brogues.

What’s the oldest thing in your clothing cupboard? Speaking of cupboards-LFG turned in her first of four book projects the other week. The Indian in the Cupboard was her choice for project uno. She had a choice of making a shadow box-a book cover or an advertising poster to accompany the more thorough written report to be turned in. I love working with her on the right brain projects. I struggle to help her with the left brain stuff-I had to hire a tutor to get me through grad school statistics. I is a Liberal Arts man.

LFG knocking out another page or two of The Indian in the Cupboard post Cotillion last month. My mother had to knock my a_s out to get me to read anything at that age.

So LFG decides on creating a book cover. We find some clip art to her liking. I print our various sized for her and then she goes to work.

I really thought it was cool when she suggested that we put the little Indian in the side pocket of Omri’s pants. Cool no?

Ok….gotta get to work here. No chemotherapy strategies today. I’m down-market with perplexing issues regarding women’s contraception and hormone replacement. Still blows my mind that the cash out of pocket co-pays for oral contraceptives are often times higher than the co-pays for Viagra. That’s logical right? Being the father of an only child-a budding woman…should turn any man into a feminist to some degree.

Onward-With little Indians-And Big Tweedy Bellows Pockets-And Higher Co-Pays

ADG

Jesus-LFG-The Flusser Books-The Flusser DC Visit This Week

 Like a lot of my drivel, context is important-or an excuse. South Carolina hadn’t seen the likes of Flusser during my formative years-we had trad be we didn’t have Flusser. The most stylish guy I’ve ever known showed me the first book by this guy Alan Flusser. Hometown buddy WAH remains one of the most ardently stylish guys in existence and I don’t know exactly what I did to deserve his friendship but his boys are a talisman of it I suppose. His oldest is my godson and to the detriment of his grades, has pledged my college fraternity. He gave his next boy my surname. So looking back on my friendship with WAH, I seem to recall that he didn’t give me the first Flusser book. I stole it from him…or I borrowed it and forgot to return it.

  

 I walk in to WAH’s apartment and he has this paperback book... Making the Man. I’d never heard of Alan Flusser and certainly, had never seen a book devoted to traditional men’s clothing. To say that I was clothes crazy was an understatement and I didn’t know that anyone had really taken such an erudite approach to assembling such lore. Of course I'd been working in a traditional haberdashery and had seen, heard, touched and tasted all things trad for years. I didn’t know much about Savile Row but had survived the Disco 70’s intact and reasonably unscathed-having destroyed most of the photo evidence of my sartorial missteps. I blew through the first Flusser book in no time.

 I love the dedication in Alan's first book… "To my father whose wonderful esoteric wardrobe first whetted my appetite for french lisle, hand clocked socks, English suspenders and garters, Brooks Brothers button down shirts and alligator tassel loafers, and whose memory is never far from my mind when in my travels, I happen upon some exquisite legacy from his time, an item crafted by artists and altogher elegant.”  

 Fast forward however many years and I see an advertisement in M Magazine. Anybody remember M Magazine? It was to me a bit more traditional, less twee version of GQ. There’s a new book for sale called Clothes and the Man…now a larger, better illustrated, more comprehensive digest by this guy named Flusser.  I’m in DC for a meeting about the same time and I find Alan Flusser shirts at Britches of Georgetown. These shirts are strong to say the least. Butcher stripes and rounded collars and spread-contrasting collars and french cuffs. I don’t think I’d ever worn anything but a button down collar shirt before Flusser. And I put a collar pin through said shirts. Heresy-and damned good looking at that.

The book is off the hook. Remember, there is nothing else of this caliber and I honestly think that I read it in one night. All of my buddies borrowed it…that was back when one lived with several roomies for all of the economical reasons of post undergrad efficiencies. Shit, I think we lived in an efficiency at that time. Fake it till you make it I always say.

 The next Flusser tome, titled Style and the Man was a handy dandy little reference on where to buy high quality, well made clothing and accessories. Most of the international purveyors listed sans London and maybe a one or two-off in Paris have not seen little ole ADG walk in the door and sadly, several of those referenced that I had darkened in the States no longer exist. No offense to Joseph A. Banks. It’s a great place to go for some basic things and I always recommend Banks as an alternative to Brooks when young guys have no dosh and are just entering the workforce after school. However, when F&R  Tripler in Gotham closed its doors-a Banks franchise later opened in that hallowed space. That’s just plain wrong. 

Kinda like whoever is in the old Anderson and Sheppard location on Savile Row simply has no right to be there-doing whatever they are doing-in the same space where Max Beerbohm, my blog site nicknamesake, purchased what I'm certain, was one of his last bespoken garments…and where Astaire danced around, making sure that his sartorial contrivances were not going to be entrapments while jigging on stage and screen.

 Later my buddy Mark “Puerto” Rykken, Flusser’s general manager and business partner kept telling me about Alan’s next book...Dressing The Man. I’d gotten to know Alan a bit by then, having made enough money to flirt with Flusser togs and ultimately dive way too far into even deeper addictive sartorial waters with this group of piranhas. I waited for what seemed like forever before the Holy Grail appeared. I have to tell you-and I have a little bit of knowledge in books sartorial-this is the best book ever written on the subject-period. The Bernard Roetzel book is a distant second and Roetzel should feel complimented by that statement.

 Alan kindly signed my first copy of the great book and then just as karma would have it, my neighbor borrowed it and then moved to Europe. Bye bye Flusser tome. That’s Jesus and juju right there-getting me back for nicking WAH’s copy of Alan’s first book. When I asked Alan to sign another copy for me a few years later, he admonished me not to “eat this book”.

So LFG and I have a standard prayer list. Every night when she’s with me we go through the prix fixe roster of blessing recipients. It’s a rather monotonous-flat mention of family members that I hope upon arrival are accepted without being docked for style points. I believe in God so in my book there’s no harm in throwing a prayer up on behalf of those that might benefit. After the standard recipients are mentioned, LFG for probably six months or so then asked-unprompted- blessings for Obama before signing off with an amen. I don’t care what your politics are folks, our President needs our prayers-the world needs our prayers. This ain’t party centric as I know for a fact that Jesus and Allah are both libertarians and thespians. Now Joseph Smith-don’t get me started.

Out of the blue one night LFG drones through the standard menu, then rolls on into the President Obama blessing and then before saying amen says “and Alan Flusser”. I posited an audible on that one and as I chuckled I asked why she decided to pray for Alan and she said “I don’t know daddy, it just came to me”. Folks, it was cute but I don’t trifle with higher influences so I told her how sweet it was to mention Alan in her prayers. She’s known Alan all her life and she never calls him Alan or Mr. Flusser. It’s always been “Alan Flusser”. It’s cute. Alan has two grown daughters and I remember standing in his office with LFG when she was about two years old. Alan has an otherworldly eye for texture-color-style and assemblage and he glanced LFG up and down in my arms and said … “Well done”. He was talking about the girl-not her clothes.

I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to let Alan know that LFG had prayed for him so I wrote him a quick note. Here’s the one he sent back in reply.

 Alan is a superb writer. The Flusser Custom Shop mailings are literary works just like the old Banana Republic catalogues used to be. The Flusser gang will be in DC this week. Here is the catchy email coming out of Camp Flusser making the local devotees aware of his arrival.

From: Alan Flusser
Date: Wed, Oct 7, 2009 at 5:16 PM
Subject: Washington
To: __________________


Dear Folks,

In the spirit of discerning dissent, we arrive at "Disfunction Legislative Central" to conduct our own fashion tea party aimed at upending the nation's current sartorial mediocrity and malaise. Between the hours of 1PM Wednesday Oct. 14th. and 1PM Friday Oct. 16th. at the AKA White House (1710 H. Street NW, Wash, D.C. 20006, tel 202 904 2500), activities commensurate with such goals will be taking place in the form of individual treatises and all manner of pontification on the rare masculine art of fine habiliment. Alternative neckwear, outerwear, innerwear, footwear, anklewear, and everymanwear, festooned by the occasional three-piece, will be amongst the subjects at hand. Oh yes, hands will also be on the menu, as in, to dress. Lives will take on more color, spirits will be lifted, wallets will leave lighter, slimming torsos to silhouettes. Is there anything that we, your humble servants at The Alan Flusser Custom Shop, will not do in service of Man and Country?

All luxury purveyors need business so if any of ya’ll desire the Flusser experience, swing by their suite this week. I’ve not a penny to spare so my purchases will be limited to …………shut up.

Onward-Flussardly

ADG